


"Are you going to talk to me?"

by Lavender_and_Vanilla



Series: Mystrade Monday Part 2: Flash Fiction [31]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 360MG format, Angst with a Happy Ending, Don't Post To Another Site, Established Relationship, M/M, Making Up, Mystrade Monday Prompts, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:55:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29773725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavender_and_Vanilla/pseuds/Lavender_and_Vanilla
Summary: Even when all is forgiven, it can still be hard to say 'I'm sorry.'
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Lestrade
Series: Mystrade Monday Part 2: Flash Fiction [31]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862299
Comments: 11
Kudos: 84





	"Are you going to talk to me?"

Greg flinched at the sound of the drawers being closed a little too forcefully. He glanced at his husband of two years, taking in the thin line of his mouth and the narrowed eyes, as Mycroft moved about the kitchen pulling their breakfast together. In hopes of improving things, Greg plunged in, getting the kettle going.

“What’ll it be today? Tea or coffee?” Greg asked.

Mycroft shrugged and loaded the toaster.

“Okay. I think tea then.” That was generally a safe bet when Mycroft was in a mood.

Mycroft set the bowl of berries he’d just washed on the table, hard. A strawberry bounced out and onto the table.

Greg got down their cups and put tea in the teapot. He watched Mycroft, hands on his hips, glare at the toaster. The silence was growing oppressive. He was pretty sure he knew what was wrong, but he hated to make assumptions. The kettle went off and Greg filled the pot. “What’s going on?” He asked quietly.

Mycroft dropped his arms, but didn’t look at Greg. “I’m angry,” he replied in a low voice. “With you.” The toaster popped and Mycroft snatched the hot toast and distributed it on the plates.

“Yeah, I got that.” Greg pointedly looked at the burnt toast on his plate. “Are you going to talk to me?”

“I don’t know.”

* * *

Mycroft turned on the lights in the kitchen and got himself a glass of water. He couldn’t sleep. The fight with Gregory weighed on him. Mycroft knew blame lay with each of them, and while they’d nominally patched things up, no one actually had apologized.

Mycroft leaned against the counter and glanced over at the kitchen table. An envelope sat at his place, centered in the middle of the placemat. Curious, he went over and opened it. Inside was a note, from Gregory.

“You darling man,” Mycroft murmured as he read the note.

“Are we okay?” Greg’s voice was rough with worry.

Mycroft wheeled. “Yes,” he breathed.

Greg moved closer and took Mycroft in his arms. “I’m so—“

Mycroft pressed his fingers to Greg’s mouth. “Forgiven. I’m also sorry.”

Relieved, Greg sighed. Their foreheads met gently.


End file.
